


A Night to Remember

by anonymouse64



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymouse64/pseuds/anonymouse64
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short little one-shot I did for a writing challenge based off the Night to Remember trailer and a picture I found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night to Remember

 

                                                                                           

“Wolves asleep admist the trees.” The man in the suit turned at the sound, taking the cigar out of his mouth.

“Bats all a-swayin’ in the breeze.” The big man with the ginger hair turned from where he had been talking with the girl sitting on the dustbin, looking the same way.

“But one soul lies anxious, wide awake.” The girl smirked, leaning forwards slightly to get a better view.

“Fearin’ all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths.” The dark-skinned man with dreadlocks turned his head slightly to look, hands clasped behind his back.

The white-haired man voice faded, the echoes of the song swallowed by the dark. The Man in the Suit spoke:

“Nice tune. Been a while since I heard it last.” The white-haired man shrugged a shoulder.

“Folk have forgotten it. Got…” he paused, looking at the four standing before him. Their eyes glowed like those of a cat. “Other things on their mind.”

The man in the suit smiled. “Things like us?”

The white-haired man tightened his grip on the sword in his right hand. Silver hummed as he ran a gloved thumb down the edge.

“They paid me for you.”

The girl leapt lightly off the dustbin and stood with the others, closing ranks. The man with dreadlocks spoke:

“In times past, no amount of coin would’ve convinced a Witcher to take this contract.” The medallion around the white-haired man’s neck shivered on its chain, jingling quietly. His face darkened.

“Times have changed.”

They charged.

 

As silver sang and fire burned, the white-haired man sang under his breath:

“Birds are silent for the night.” The girl reeled away as the sword cut sliced through her midriff, struggling to hold in her guts as the oil on the sword burned her flesh away.

“Cows turned in as daylight dies.” The ginger man seized the white wolf by the throat, mouth opening wide and elongated teeth shining in the dim light. Gloved fingers moved in an arcane shape and the big man released his prey and staggered back, his clothes bursting into flame.

“But one soul lies anxious, wide awake.” The man with dreadlocks heaved one of the dumpsters at the white wolf as though it were a toy.  The Witcher dropped to one knee and pressed a palm to the ground, a barrier of orange light springing up as the dumpster reached him. The metal box exploded on the shield, spraying rotting refuse everywhere. The white-haired man leapt from the wreckage, driving his sword to the hilt into the dark-skinned man’s chest.

“For the witcher, brave and bold.” The man in the suit seized him from behind as he struggled to free his sword.

“Paid in coin of gold.” A hand wrenched his head to the side with an addict’s strength, and shining fangs sank into the flesh of his neck. The silver sword clattered to the pavement.

“He’ll chop and slice you, gut and dice you.” The witcher’s words were an agonised hiss. The man in the suit let go of him, pushing the white-haired man to the ground and stepping back. The witcher fell to his knees, reaching for his sword and pressing a hand to his neck, trying to staunch the bleeding.

The man in the suit snarled, gore dripping from his teeth and mouth, staining the front of the suit. Then he choked. He stumbled, spitting as the blood on his lips and mouth burned his flesh. The witcher heaved himself up and took a few wobbly steps towards the man in the suit.

“Eat you up whole.” He let go of his neck and wrapped both hands around the grip of the sword. He drew the blade back to his shoulder and rasped:

“Eat. You. Whole.” The sword slashed through the air. The man in the suit hit the ground, shortly followed by his head.

The witcher lowered his sword, gasping in pain as the adrenaline began to wear off. He attempted to slide the sword back into its sheath, but his hands were shaking too badly and he gave up, dropping the silver blade to the ground.

His head swam as warm blood ran inside the collar of his shirt. He took a shaky step forwards, drawing the thin hunting knife from his belt, then stumbled. His head went light as a feather and he collapsed in the pool of blood next to the headless corpse, knife falling out of his hand. The witcher rolled on his back, gasping for air. His body felt impossibly heavy… His head thunked against the pavement as consciousness fled.

He jerked awake with a gasp, the sun’s warmth on his face. He looked up blearily, scabs on his neck crackling as he clambered to his feet. He retrieved his sword and knife, scraping dried blood off the sword before sliding it back into its sheath on his back. He looked around at the night’s work. Smoke rose from the corpses of those that the sun had already reached, features charred beyond recognition. He looked around, then sheathed the knife again. Tugging the coat off the corpse of the one that had been wearing a suit knocked a wallet out of one of the inside pockets. The White wolf scooped it up, then wrapped the coat around the head lying on the tarmac. He tied a knot in the makeshift sack, then hung it from his belt; leaving both hands free as he set off down the alleyway. He opened the wallet, automatically pocketing the cash inside and leaving the credit cards when he threw the wallet away.

He fished his smartphone out of one of the pouches in his belt and switched it on. After tabbing through a few screens, he opened the streetmap app and set the destination for the town hall.

Half an hour later, he walked in through the front door. The receptionist glanced up from the screen of her computer and did a subtle double-take at the white-haired, blood-stained sword wearing man standing before her. She found her voice and asked timidly:

“D-do you have an appointment?” The man looked down at her and patted the bloodstained sack hanging from his belt which dripped onto the carpet.

“More or less.” His voice was a pained rasp, no wonder, the woman thought; looking at the huge wound in his neck. Those almost looked like teeth marks…

The white-haired man set off up the stairs, following the scent of a very distinctive brand of aftershave. He pushed open the door and barged into the mayor’s office. The man himself was on the phone and leapt up in a combination of outrage and fright, opening his mouth to say something when the Witcher dumped the sack onto his desk with a thump.

 


End file.
